The Mirror I Put in My Mother-in-Law’s Room

We had been married for eighteen years. Our two children already lived on their own: the older one in another city, the younger one with his girlfriend in an apartment twenty minutes from here. The house, which used to be noisy and small for all of us, now felt too big for just the two of us. Big and silent, like one of those hotel rooms that feel empty even when everything is in its place.

My wife and I had found a kind of comfortable peace. She with her television series, I with the garage workshop where I spent my afternoons fixing old things: tube radios, wall clocks, whatever turned up. Sex had stopped being something that concerned us long ago. Two months could go by without either of us suggesting anything, and when I did try now and then—a hand under her nightgown, my mouth looking for her neck—she would push me away with a tired gesture she had perfected as a shield. My cock would stay hard against her hip for a long minute, waiting for something that never came, until it went down on its own out of sheer boredom. I ended up masturbating in the bathroom, quietly, while she slept. I accepted it without much drama. That was us.

In that context, my mother-in-law came to live with us.

It was no surprise. She was seventy-eight and had lived alone since her husband died a decade earlier. Her legs were no longer what they had once been, and although she walked around the house on her own, she used a walker as a precaution ever since she fractured a hip a couple of years before. Her three daughters agreed to split the months: a while at each house, rotating according to availability. It was our turn to start.

Doña Elvira, that was her name, was a pleasant woman. Conversational without being a pain, neat, always worried about not bothering anyone. She came to the kitchen at seven in the morning to make her tea with milk, read the newspaper on a tablet her grandchildren had given her, and went to bed before ten at night. A discreet presence that hardly disturbed the routine.

In her day, she must have been an attractive woman. My wife had photos of her when she was young and it showed: tall, with pronounced curves, huge tits filling out her dress, and a gaze that even in black and white still had force. Now, at her age, time had done what it always does. Thin legs, a slow and cautious gait, a body folding inward. It wasn’t something I stopped to think about.

Until that night.

***

It was an ordinary Tuesday. My wife had been in bed for an hour watching one of her series, and I was wandering around the house turning off lights before going to sleep. When I passed the hallway I noticed my mother-in-law’s bedroom door was ajar. She slept with it that way, not fully closed, because a completely sealed room made her claustrophobic. I knew that, but I had never paid it any attention.

I don’t know why I stopped that time. The hallway was dark and the crack between the frame and the door was only a sliver of light. From where I was standing, I couldn’t be seen. I stayed perfectly still.

Doña Elvira had her back to me, undressing slowly. Her movements were unhurried, the movements of someone for whom every gesture requires attention. She unbuttoned her blouse button by button, slipped it off carefully, and then reached behind her back to unhook her bra.

Her tits dropped free. Big, heavy, sagging, the dark, broad nipples pointing toward the floor, those of a woman who had once had magnificent breasts and whose time had transformed them without erasing their presence. She lifted them once with her palms, weighing them as if easing the burden, and let them fall again with a heavy bounce that made me swallow in the dark. I watched the nipples sway and settle against the skin of her abdomen. Then she took the nightshirt from the chair and pulled it over her head.

I stood motionless five more seconds and went to bed.

That night I couldn’t sleep for a long while. I lay in the dark, with the ceiling above me and my wife snoring softly beside me, thinking about what I had seen. I tried to tell myself it had meant nothing, that I had simply been distracted for a second. But the truth was simpler and more uncomfortable: I had felt something I had not felt in a very long time. Anticipation. Heat in my chest. My cock hard and swollen inside my underwear, staining the fabric with a patch of pre-cum. An erection that settled in on its own, without my inviting it, and that did not go down even when I turned onto my side trying to forget it.

I ended up slipping my hand under the sheets, very slowly so as not to move the mattress. I took hold of my dick and worked it slowly, squeezing hard at the base, with the image of those sagging tits bouncing against my mother-in-law’s body fixed in my head. I came into my fist in two minutes, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t groan. The cum was warm between my fingers. I wiped myself on the old T-shirt I used as pajamas and fell asleep with a strange emptiness in my stomach.

***

The following week, when my mother-in-law said goodnight before going to bed, I waited ten minutes and then walked slowly down the hallway. The door was still ajar, as always. I planted myself in the same spot, in the same darkness, and waited.

The ritual repeated almost exactly. Doña Elvira took off her clothes with the same deliberation, the same silent concentration of someone doing something she had done thousands of times. This time I stayed longer. I watched her struggle to pull off her pants, bracing herself on the back of the chair, and then her panties after that. The white panties got stuck on her hips for a second, and she tugged them down until they fell along her legs to the floor. She bent slowly to pick them up, and when she straightened she was completely naked, her back to me. I saw her big, soft, sagging ass, with that skin that is no longer taut but is still ass. Her cheeks spread apart as she breathed. Between her legs I caught sight of the dark shadow of a patch of gray hair between her thighs. Then she reached for the nightshirt and pulled it over her head, covering everything.

I went to the bathroom with my cock hard, pushing against my pants. I locked the door, pulled everything down to my knees, and grabbed myself with both hands. I spat in my palm and worked it fast, squeezing the tip with my thumb every time I stroked up. I thought about those panties sliding down her old legs, the huge sagging ass, the gray hair between the legs of my wife’s mother. I came over the toilet lid, thick spurts that jolted my knees. I stayed there a minute, breathless, gripping the sink, staring at myself in the mirror with an empty face.

I had no way to justify it and I didn’t even try. It was what it was.

***

The problem was the angle. The crack between the hinge and the frame gave a narrow strip, and most of the time Doña Elvira moved out of that field. I saw scraps: a shoulder, the profile of a tit, the movement of her arms, a piece of ass appearing and disappearing. Enough to get me going, but not enough. I was left wanting, with my cock outlined under my pants, always finishing in the bathroom with my hand and a half-built memory.

I started thinking about solutions. Moving the door a little was possible, but risky: one creak and it would all be over. There was a window that looked out onto the back patio, but the curtains were always drawn. I checked from outside: the space between the fabric and the frame was minimal. You could only see the back wall.

Then I thought of the mirror.

It was an idea that came to me while I was in the workshop, sanding an old piece and thinking about something else. If there were a mirror at the right angle inside the room, placed facing the bed and visible from the patio through the small gap in the curtain, I could see everything without having to stand in the hallway.

I searched online for a shoe cabinet with a full-length mirror. I found one in dark wood, with a large mirror on the front door, reasonably elegant so it wouldn’t raise suspicions. I had it delivered to work so it wouldn’t arrive at home when I wasn’t there. I assembled it alone one Saturday morning in the workshop, calculated the dimensions from memory, and carried it up to my mother-in-law’s room under the pretext that she needed more space for her shoes.

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Doña Elvira told me, with that genuinely grateful smile she had.

“It’s no trouble,” I replied. “I had it stored away and we weren’t using it for anything.”

I placed it exactly where I had calculated: at the angle that the mirror’s reflection projected toward the window. That afternoon I went out to the patio under the excuse of watering the plants and checked from outside: the reflection was perfect. From the exact point where I would stand, with the curtains almost completely closed, you could see the bed and a good part of the space in front of it.

My wife said it was a very nice gesture on my part.

I didn’t say anything.

***

The first night I used the mirror, my wife had already been asleep for more than an hour with the TV on some episode she no longer cared about. I got up slowly, went out to the patio without turning on any lights, and positioned myself at the spot I had marked in my mind for days.

I waited.

Ten minutes later, Doña Elvira went into her room. Through the mirror, I could see her almost head-on. She moved toward the chair where she left her clothes, sat on the edge of the bed, and started unbuttoning her blouse.

I unzipped my pants and took out my cock. It was already hard, throbbing in my hand, the tip wet.

I saw her with a clarity the hallway crack had never given me. Her big sagging tits when she took off her bra, the dark nipples broad as coins, the wrinkled areolas from the cold of the room. She grabbed them for a moment with both hands, as if weighing them again, and I thought I saw one nipple harden between her fingers. The loose skin on her abdomen, the grooves time carves into a body that has lived a long life, the stretch marks from her three births crossing her belly. She stood up to lower her pants, bracing one hand on the back of the chair, and when she straightened and slipped off her panties she stood naked in front of the mirror for a few seconds that felt much longer.

Now I could see her from the front. The gray patch between her legs was thicker than I had imagined, a graying triangle that covered her sex almost completely. Her tits hung down to the middle of her stomach, heavy, swaying slowly each time she breathed. The swollen pubis. The thin thighs with loose skin but still shaped. I gripped my cock hard and started moving my hand up and down, fast, silent, my mouth open against my shoulder so I wouldn’t make a sound.

I pictured myself in my mind: standing in the dark patio with my pants open, my cock out, jerking off while watching my wife’s mother naked through a mirror I had placed there for that very purpose. It was an image that in another context would have filled me with shame. That night it only made my pulse race and tightened my balls even more.

Doña Elvira slowly scratched under one breast, distracted, her eyes fixed on the small television she had on the dresser. The breast lifted and fell again, and the dark nipple pointed straight at me through the mirror. Then she ran her hand over her belly, scratched there too, and for a moment her hand rested on her hairy pubis, fingers sinking into the gray hair. She stayed like that for a few seconds, watching TV, unaware of anything. I worked myself faster, squeezing hard, the come already climbing up from the base.

Then she reached for the nightshirt on the bed, put it on with that characteristic calm of hers, and sat down to take off her slippers. When she bent over, the shirt opened and I saw her tits hanging heavy toward the floor, swinging between her knees.

I came in the patio, quietly, with my left hand covering my mouth and my right pumping until the end. Thick spurts came out, landing on the tiles and in the lemon tree pot. I stayed hunched against the wall, breathing through my nose, with my cock still dripping onto my fingers. I wiped myself with a tissue I had brought on purpose, put everything away, and stayed one more minute looking at the mirror until Doña Elvira turned off the light.

I went back into the house, washed my hands, and lay down beside my wife, who was sleeping with her mouth slightly open and the blue light from the television flickering over her face.

***

It became a routine.

Two or three nights a week, when everything was quiet, I would go out to the patio with the tissue in my pocket and my cock already starting to swell before I got to my spot. Sometimes it took longer, sometimes less. Some nights Doña Elvira adjusted the curtain better and the angle was lost. Other nights the show was complete. I learned not to despair when there was nothing: I simply went back to bed and waited for the next time.

I learned her habits. On Tuesdays she bathed late, and those nights she came to the room with wet hair, wrapped in a towel that opened at her chest, and took longer to undress because she was cold. I would see her skin reddened by the hot water, her tits still wet, dripping from the tips of her nipples. Once, on a Tuesday, she dried her legs with the towel braced against the edge of the bed, opening them to reach the insides of her thighs properly, and gave me an angle of her hairy cunt that made me finish in the patio before she had even started to put on her nightgown. I stayed pressed against the wall trembling, with cum running down my wrist, trying not to lose my balance.

On Thursdays she usually went to bed earlier than the rest of the week. On weekends, when one of her daughters came to visit, the routine changed completely and I was left with nothing, my balls swollen until Monday.

I also discovered that sometimes, before putting on her shirt, she would sit naked on the edge of the bed to put cream on her legs. She’d squeeze a dollop into her palm and spread it with both hands over her thighs, her calves, her knees, with long, slow motions. Her tits hung between her arms, moving with each pass. One night she also put cream on her chest, holding one breast with one hand and rubbing the cleavage with the other. She ended up absently pinching one nipple between two fingers and staying like that, watching television, unaware. I came three times in the patio that week thinking about that nipple between her fingers.

During the day, in the kitchen or the dining room, Doña Elvira talked to me about her things: a granddaughter who was going to get married in the summer, a radio program she liked very much, the pain in her knee that had improved with a new cream. I listened, answered, served her tea, looking at her wrinkled hands around the cup and thinking about those same hands squeezing her tits the night before. We were two people who got along well.

No one would have imagined what happened when the lights went out.

***

One night, while I was waiting in the patio with October’s cold biting my shoulders and my cock out of my pants, I heard my wife get up to go to the bathroom. I stayed completely still in the darkness, my hand resting on my hard dick. My heart was pounding fast. I heard the water running, then the chain, then the creak of the bed when she got back in. I waited another five minutes before moving. When I finally looked back at the mirror, Doña Elvira was still there, naked, now lying on her back on the sheet. She had one hand between her legs, moving slowly, almost without realizing it, while watching TV. Her fingers disappeared into the gray hair and came back out, shiny. My breath caught. I grabbed myself with both hands and came in less than a minute, soaking the tissue, my mouth open against my shoulder.

It was part of the risk. A part that, if I was honest with myself, I also liked.

That month, Doña Elvira went to stay with another one of her daughters. The week before she left, I caught myself thinking I was going to miss those nights in the patio. Not her exactly as a person, but that feeling of being completely awake, completely alive, cock in hand and a naked woman on the other side of the glass, while the rest of the house slept. That full attention I found nowhere else during the day.

The day they packed her bags, I helped her down to the car. Doña Elvira gave me a brief, firm hug before getting in. I felt her tits pressed against my chest for a full second, and I had to pull away fast so she wouldn’t notice my cock beginning to stir in my pants.

“Thank you for the piece of furniture,” she told me. “Of all the things I’m taking with me, I liked that mirror more than any of them. It does me good to see myself whole every morning.”

“I’m glad,” I replied.

And I meant it.

That night I slept straight through, uninterrupted, next to my wife who was sleeping too. The house was completely silent. I didn’t go out to the patio. There was no reason to.

The shoe cabinet with the big mirror stayed stored in the workshop, leaning against the wall, waiting for the next time someone was in that room.